


Incubus

by geekns, luinel (geekns)



Series: The Incubus and the Lady President [1]
Category: Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who (TV Movie 1996), Torchwood
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alien Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Romance, Childbirth, F/M, M/M, Multi, No Genderfluidity, No Missy, Pregnant Sex, Trinary Time Lords, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-11-16
Updated: 2010-11-20
Packaged: 2018-12-25 12:33:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12035976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekns/pseuds/geekns, https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekns/pseuds/luinel
Summary: An AU story set post-Library that examines Time Lord sexuality and the Doctor's relationship to Donna, River, Romana, and the Master. Donna never gets mind-raped/wiped and the Time Lord's aren't as extinct as the Doctor believes. Biology driven baby-fic with eventual Rape/Non-Con chapters.  Examines hypothetical Time Lord culture inspired by Logan's Run, among other things.  Started/set before 50th anniversary so the Time Lords remain very Time Locked.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: It all belongs to BBC. I can't believe that i'm writing this.
> 
> A/N: This is AU, set post-Midnight, is not part of any of my other series, and is probably the result of an illness and drug-induced haze. Canon changes: the Master didn't age the Doctor with the Laser Screwdriver, and the Doctor isn't exactly asexual...but he hasn't exactly figured that out just yet. Alien anatomy is obviously going to play a part in this story.
> 
> I started writing this post-series five. It is incomplete and i still intend to finish it. For the time being i will be uploading a chapter at a time with its companion fic Fighting a Fixed Point.

The Doctor awoke suddenly, the remnants of his dream thrumming through him unpleasantly, his heartsbeats pounding in his ears.  He had been in The Library again, deep in the Core, but it hadn't been River who had been plugged into CAL...it had been Donna.  Even after waking, he felt as if he was paralyzed, for an eternity of 16 seconds.  Gradually, his body began to respond again.  He automatically began internally checking all of his body's functions, heartsrate normalizing, blood pressure lowering, breathing evening, his cubus itching somewhat unpleasantly.  
  
_That_ was unusual.  He sat up, easing back the covers, and lowered a hand to his groin.  The front of his boxers were damp.  He had read of such things happening to boys...in fact, he had seen Koschei's face burn with the shame of realization centuries ago, had climbed into his bed and comforted him more than once, in the darkest hours of the night.  But the Doctor was not a boy, so a wet dream was unusual for him.  He dipped a hand into his flap, fingers probing gently, and discovered that not only was he itching...he was, well, aroused, for lack of a better word.  His cubus' temperature was elevated compared to usual, slightly swollen, dripping wet, and protruding slightly.  
  
So he was changing again.  He wondered at this, because his last change had been before the last Time War, and he had no idea what was triggering a change now, a couple of regenerations later.  In fact, there wasn't much that he did understand about his body's reproductive system because such knowledge had been deemed to be forbidden on Gallifrey.  A mental block had been placed on him before his body's awakening, so he couldn't access details about his reproductive state internally.  The Time Lords had effectively shut the Doctor's sex drive to the off position before he had even been allowed to enroll in the Academy.  
  
The Doctor had been placed with the boys as a child because he had then been in the form of an incubus.  He had looked male other than the differences between a penis and his cubus, which was smaller and wider.  After his time with Romana, however, in that night which never was, he had been more than a little dismayed when his body had spontaneously transformed itself overnight into the form of the succubus.  His cubus, after being used in its reproductive capacity for the one and only time, had seemed to deflate and pull itself upwards.  He had fallen asleep, and by the time he had woken the cubus had disappeared entirely, tucking itself up inside his pelvis to create a tiny cavern very similar to that of a vagina.  That had been relatively painless, leaving him slightly tender and sore in the lower abdomen and groin for a couple of weeks and not much else, but he wondered if the same would hold true for the reverse process.  
  
He wasn't sure if he was upset about this ability to change or not.  He did not grow breasts, he didn't start having a monthly cycle (which was a relief, he must admit), but he had lost some of his inhibitions with women.  Where before he would have never kissed a companion, now he seemed to be kissing an awful lot of women.  He didn't know what it was, something about their taste, in moments of great stress he always felt compelled to find out how the woman he was with tasted.  Which was disgusting, the thought of swapping saliva and germs with anyone, particularly anyone that he just wasn't interested in:  not  _that_ way.  He didn't feel anything that way.  
  
When he, Jack, and Martha's family had been in captivity for the year that never was, the Master had come to him time and time again, had been very pleased indeed to discover this difference in him and take advantage of it.  They had become lovers in a way that had never been possible in the past, not that the Doctor had welcomed his advances (he was incapable of feeling such things, so far as he knew), but that he had chosen to submit to them.  He still loved Koschei, as if they were a part of each other.  He had always felt connected to him, nearly as long as he could remember.  He had used their time together to try to convince the Master to relent, which had ultimately led to him being beaten brutally any time he tried to speak to the Master at all.  So he had eventually given up on talking, and instead used their intercourse as an expression of that which he wasn't allowed to express...his forgiveness and love.  The Master had known what he wanted to tell him even before he had chosen not to regenerate.  
  
But that had been over a year ago now.  A year since the Master, more years than he wanted to count since Romana had brought his body to life in ways that he had never imagined to be possible, and every night since then spent alone.  Out of all of his companions, he had never told even  _one_ what he was:  neither man nor female, but something in between and both.  He still felt constrained by the taboos that had once been upheld by all of Time Lord society, and the worst of it was that he had no answers for his own peace of mind, let alone anyone else's.  He did have to admit that being able to pee while standing up again would be handy, if nothing else.  
  
The Doctor spent his day getting ready in the usual way:  showering, shaving, brushing his teeth fastidiously, fixing his hair just so.  Much more than he has as version 9.0, he had a strong urge to always appear to be at his best:  dashing and put together.  He required less sleep than humans, so this was not a difficult prospect.  He would go to sleep after Donna, and wake up before her, and usually have coffee ready at the very least before she stumbled into the kitchen in her housecoat, blurry eyed and with thoroughly tousled hair.  
  
His cubus twitched unexpectedly.  It was something between a throb and an overwhelming need to be scratched, pain and pleasure peaking simultaneously.  He also felt a little light-headed.  He gripped the sink, steadying himself, taking deep breaths and wondering at how pale his face was.  The sensation passed after a few moments, so he set his comb aside, washed his hands, and checked his appearance one last time before heading out.  
  
He was surprised to find that Donna was already awake and standing at the stove in the kitchen, expertly pushing eggs and hashbrowns and bacon around a couple of frying pans.  She turned away when she saw him, and he heard a little sniff as she poured him a cup of coffee.  Their hands touched as she turned to hand it to him, and a thrill of warmth shot up his arm as their eyes met.  She was clean, freshly scrubbed, no makeup on yet, with the slightest tinge of pink to her eyes and cheeks.  Her hair was piled on top of her head, and he had a sudden urge to hug her.  But she turned back to the food, and the moment was lost.  
  
He took a sip of the coffee almost without thought, his mind instantly appraising its composition as perfectly sweetened, and swallowed, gulping it down.  The liquid felt hot and heavy and dark in his throat.  He gagged, barely making it to the sink before all of it came up again.  Donna gave a cry of alarm and dropped the spatula she had been holding on the floor, moving to help him.  His body continued to heave, making sure all of the dark liquid was out of him before allowing him to relax, body arched over the large, deep sink that was just the perfect height for Donna to stand at, do dishes, and not get a backache.  It wasn't the right height for  _him_ , however, and his entire spine was now tingling unpleasantly.  
  
Donna hummed comforting words to him, deftly retrieving a napkin and a glass of water without even leaving his side.  After she had cleaned him up, her hand somehow found the small of his back and began rubbing away the tension that she found there.   _This_ felt divine.  Donna's deft hands instantly banished the tension from his back, shoulders, neck, within moments of brushing against the knots they were tied up in.  He wasn't sure that she even knew what she was doing, murmuring sweet nothings, calling him “honey” and then “love.”  His hips jerked forward, into the sink, without him even being aware of why, and Donna froze, backing away from him.  
  
His cubus was smarting unpleasantly again.  He told himself to breathe normally, was relieved that there hadn't been an edge or corner in the way of his body's strange urges today.  He turned to face Donna, was dismayed to discover that she had turned away from him, was trying to hide the fact that she was crying by resuming the cooking and hiding behind her hair, which was starting to fall from its clip.  
  
“Donna, did you dream about The Library this morning by any chance?” he asked her quietly.  
  
“Course not,” she lied.  For some reason, Donna never wanted to talk about The Library.  “Why don't you sit down and I'll just get you a plate?”  Both of them moved to the stools at the other side of the island and dug in, not talking, falling once more into their easy routine.  It was quiet compared to usual, but not uncomfortable, at least...not between the two of them.  The Doctor quickly discovered that he was  _starving_ , which wasn't unusual.  Ever since Donna had started traveling with him, she had been doing her best to fill him out.  Any time she put any food before him, he promptly consumed everything on his plate.  Today, he began to wonder if maybe he should stop in the Med Bay for a quick scan, as he started in on a banana.  
  
Of course, he wasn't sure what that would tell him, as Tardises weren't equipped with a medical database that would explain such things as a change to him.  He found himself to be annoyed for the first time in centuries that Time Lords were so tight-lipped about the entire reproductive process.  He had only ever been expected to report to a clinic at a pre-arranged time.  He had never had the urges or chance to explore sexuality before Romana had opened that door, and never since.  He wondered what she had known.  She had obviously known something, but had refused to tell him.  Still, it had been one  _unbelievable_  night.  
  
“Doctor, are you feeling all right?” Donna asked, a little uncomfortably.  “You're looking a little flushed.”  She reached out to brush a palm against his forehead, and once again he felt his skin flare with heat at her touch.  She removed her hand quickly, looking as if she had been shocked.  
  
“I'm fine,” he assured her.  
  
“You're sure?” she asked, dubious.  “You were just sick a minute ago, maybe you should have a lie down.”  
  
“Never better,” he reassured her.  He moved to wash up the dishes, turning to hide his face, much as she had earlier.  “Why don't you meet me in the Console Room when you're ready?” he asked, trying to infuse his voice with warmth.  
  
Half an hour later, they were walking together through a market, hand in hand, enjoying a foamy drink together.  Even though he had just eaten breakfast, he found that he was still quite hungry.  And he was enjoying holding Donna's hand even more than usual.  He didn't want to let go of her.  He had a bad feeling that if he let her out of his sight, something bad would happen.  So he didn't let go of her.  He showered her with attention, bought them a large and early lunch, and then hurried them back to the Tardis.  He couldn't focus on the shopping, the sites, the vendors, it was all about Donna.  
  
Something was changing between them, he could feel it tugging at him as they made their way back to the Tardis, stumbling through the crowds, laughing.  The Tardis was calling to him, the thought of soothing cool sheets and a real, proper massage beckoning to him.  Donna didn't seem to mind at all, in fact, she seemed more than a little eager to return to the safety of their home than usual, considering how short of a day trip they had taken.  But no one was more surprised than the Doctor himself when they had ran into the Tardis so suddenly that he had somehow managed to pin Donna between himself and his trusty old ship...and then leaned down to kiss her.


	2. Chapter 2

The Doctor had never ever done anything like this before.  He had never pinned a woman to the side of the Tardis and proceeded to stick his tongue into her mouth.  He had never ever found himself grinding his groin against anyone or anything, desperate for friction on and in and around his cubus.  He had never lost control, shaking in anticipation, wanting, no  _needing_ , to find completion.  He had been taken by two partners, but he had always been under their complete control.  This was utterly different, this was out of control, his or anyone else's.  This was beyond anything that he had ever experienced before.  This felt natural, and necessary, and forbidden.  His body moved of its own volition, his hands roamed, searching for something to anchor himself to.  He could feel this planet spinning, was terrified of flying off of it, into nothingness, into a sensationless void that would be more torturous than feeling this heat and want and need.  Nothing mattered right now more than Donna and some primal urge that he couldn't suppress.  
  
Or so he had thought until he realized that Donna had somehow managed to get his shirt untucked.  Her warm hand was suddenly caressing the bared skin of his stomach, dipping underneath his waistband, towards the soft, ticklish skin of his lower abdomen, and the shock grounded him, if only momentarily.  What would she think when her hand didn't find what it was searching for?  He pulled away just enough to open the door of the Tardis, and they slipped inside, breathless and flushed, the cool interior air washing over him like a soothing balm.  His need was instantly quenched to a soft buzzing rather than the blaze threatening to rage out of control that had previously held him.  
  
He shut the doors behind himself, watching Donna warily as she removed her coat and tossed it on the floor, then stepped forward to peel his off as well.  She paused mid-tug, her hands lingering behind his back, his arms pinned behind him with his coat still halfway on, and her eyes met his.  Her expression was one of hunger for a long moment, but then changed to something else, it softened into understanding.  She dropped the item of clothing on the floor rather than it's usual home, then took his hand.  
  
“Come on, spaceman, let's have us a talk.”  Donna led him to her room, shut the door behind them, and then proceeded to lead him to the bed.  He wondered about the door:  there was no real reason to close it, no one to shut out, and yet it gave him a certain amount of comfort.  His hearts fluttered wildly as they sat down together, hand in hand, and she rubbed the back of his hand comfortingly.  “There's no need to rush, we have all the time in the universe.”  She dropped his hand and moved to remove her belt, sighing as it fell to the bed.  
  
He stared at her.  The light was warm and diffused in here, and for the first time in as long as he could remember he looked at his companion, really properly stared at her.  She looked tired compared to usual, and smaller somehow.  It had been a long week, and he had been so wrapped up in himself that he hadn't thought about how it might have affected her.  
  
He had promised her a date with bibs, and instead they had spent the night huddled in his bed, with him trying not to cry as he remembered the horrors of what he had seen and felt on Midnight.  She had brought him a cup of hot tea, tucked him in, and stroked his hair until he had fallen asleep.  Later on, after the nightmares had started, she had even let him climb into bed with her.  Maybe she had realized then what his secret was...he didn't know how to ask.  He was scared, but he wanted to tell her.  If anyone could handle the truth, it would be her.  If only he could figure out how to break it to her...  
  
“I've never done this before,” he confessed.  She blinked at him:  
  
“Wot, sat on a bed with a girl?” she smiled disarmingly.  He gulped:  
  
“No, become...intimate...with a companion.”  Donna's smile faltered:  
  
“Is that what this is?  That's sweet.  No call for it, really, whatever makes you feel better.”  The Doctor blinked at her, slowly pondering:  
  
“No, I'm sorry, that's part of the problem.  I've only been thinking of me.”  Donna giggled dismissively, but he could tell there was no mirth in it.  “I don't want to use you.  I mean, I like being with you―like it quite a lot―but you're better than this.”  Donna stood, taking her belt with her, and coiled it, her eyes focusing awfully intently on the task her hands had found.  
  
“You trying to talk yourself out of this, then?” she asked quietly.  “That's all right, don't mind me.”  She opened a drawer and slipped her belt inside, and then closed the drawer.  “You can go if you like.”  She stood with her back to him, playing with the items that were on top of her bureau.  She was hiding from him again.  A chasm had formed between them so very quickly:  it was like suddenly finding yourself in a room with no air.  
  
The Doctor stood and strode over to her, three steps to close the distance between them, to spin her and crush her to his chest:  
  
“I don't deserve you,” he assured her firmly.  “Don't ever think that I don't want you.”  Donna didn't make a sound, but he could feel the damp through his shirt, the tears that she had tried to hide from him, always hiding.  He pulled away just enough to lift her chin, crush his mouth over hers, kissing her insistently, clinging to her.  After a while, he could feel her sway, caught her before she fell, and broke the kiss so she could breathe again.  “I'm sorry,” he whispered.  “Teach me what to do, how to show you...” his voice caught in his throat.  He didn't know what he was feeling.  
  
“Every day with you is more special than the one before,” she whispered.  “Can we sit down?”  He swiftly maneuvered her back to the bed, laid her down upon it, then curled his body up next to her, nuzzling her cheek, her ear, her throat.  Donna lay back, gasping for air, lips pink and swollen, looking thoroughly snogged.  A strange sense of pride and desire surged through the Doctor at the thought that he had done that to her.  He had never felt anything like this before.  
  
“So are you just ignorant about human girls then?” Donna asked after she had regained some of her composure.  “I'm sure your wife must have had one of those bypass respite-ma-bob, but an Earth girl like me needs to breathe.”  
  
“Wife?” the Doctor asked, confused.  “I've never been married.”  
  
“But you've had children,” Donna responded, matter of factly.  “You told me...”  
  
“Time Lord,” he reminded her, pointing to himself.  It took a moment, but realization slowly dawned on her face.  He cleared his throat and quoted:  “'It's the duty of every graduate to help sire the next generation'...theoretically speaking.”  
  
“What's that supposed to mean?”  
  
“Well...I'm not exactly normal.  I'm part of the 0.25% of the population that is neither male nor female:  rather rare, me.  In my case, I went to a clinic twice, a year apart each time, and five years later I was told that I had three children.”  Donna sat up abruptly:  
  
“You aren't  _male_?” she stared down at him incredulously.  He swallowed nervously:  
  
“No, I'm not, not really.”  He looked away, lifted a hand to tug on his ear self-consciously:  “I'm...kind of...both.”  
  
“What's that even mean?” she asked.  She turned a little pink:  “That you can do both at the same time?”  She seemed to look a little intrigued by the idea.  
  
“No, no,” he responded quickly.  “I sort of...change back and forth.  Don't know why, really, my body seems to decide to do it on its own.  Never wanted to even try being intimate before you.”  He blushed when he realized that he had confessed this last bit.  As soon as he had said it, he had known that it was really, really true.  He wanted to be with Donna, like try to be in a proper relationship.  Such a thing had never occurred to him before, the thought of being domestic had always scared and repulsed him in the past.  “I love you,” he said before he even realized he was saying it.  
  
Donna blinked at him, then started trembling:  
  
“Blimey.”


	3. Chapter 3

Donna burst into sobs suddenly, her shoulders shaking violently. She twisted her ring, fidgeting awkwardly, and tried to turn so that he couldn't see her face, which was screwed up in obvious grief. The Doctor sat up, alarmed, and wondered what had possessed him to blurt such a thing out loud.  
  
Of course he loved Donna, he had loved each of his companions in turn, but he had never told them so. Humans were as likely to take offense as completely misunderstand his intentions otherwise. Even Donna, the first time they had met, had assumed that he was some sort of kidnapper and rapist, an alien incubus, beautiful and terrifying. But he had loved each of the people who had traveled with him, often unwillingly, each in their own way, and all completely platonically. But there was something about Donna that was different, that called to him. He had been trying to ignore it ever since she had first come aboard, but Donna was, of course, impossible to ignore.  
  
"I'm sorry," he managed at last, not sure what else he could say. Donna threw herself into his arms again, causing the scent of her to wash over him, vanilla and avocado, coconut and salty tears. As she molded her body to his own, tucking her face into his throat, he could feel his cubus start to itch again. He forced himself to keep his hands on her waist and back, his hips still. It was surprising how much of an effort it was when he'd never had the slightest bit of trouble completely ignoring such urges in the past (Well...hadn't had to, because he had never had any such inclinations, really). There was no need for him to start letting his lust control him and start acting like a sex-crazed teenager right now. This really did not seem to be the time or place.  
  
But he couldn't help but notice how lovely Donna's breasts felt, smashed against his chest, heaving slightly with her sobs. He felt hard put to remember a time when he had ever traveled with anyone as well endowed as the woman who was currently clinging to him. Her ginger hair was everywhere, in his nose, tickling the backs of his hands, reflecting the lights around Donna's head like a halo, tempting him.  
  
"I don't want to love you," Donna whispered against his neck. The Doctor's heart fell. It felt as if someone had poured ice water down his back. His body went painfully rigid. “All I want, all I've  _ever_  wanted, is to have a family,” Donna told him. “Forget having a meaningful career, being a successful woman, and putting cash away to support my Grandad.  As long as I can remember, I've wanted to have a whole house full of babies.”  
  
The Doctor, somehow, felt even worse upon hearing this. He couldn't give Donna what she wanted. He could make each and every day more exciting and scary than the last, but he couldn't give her children. That had never bothered him before. He had hardly known his children, but that was normal on Gallifrey. Everyone went to the Academy when they turned eight, everyone. Before that, they were raised in the creche by an elite aggregation of medical professionals. Donna's idea of family and his own were on completely different sides of the universe.  
  
He felt as if he was going to be sick. He wanted to run away and hide. Donna lifted a hand to his cheek, turned his face, forcing him to look into her eyes. “But I do love you,” she confessed. “I choose  _you_  instead.”  
  
"You do?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion. She mock shrugged:  
  
"Where would you be without me? You prawn...” The Doctor crushed Donna's mouth with his own again, desperate for connection. Relief surged through him, mixed with the adrenaline that he had been feeling only moments earlier, a heady combination that set his nervous system tingling with anticipation. Donna's fingers combed through his hair, setting tufts on edge even more outrageously than usual. Eventually her fingers fisted around his gravity-defying locks and tugged gently.  His frame jerked, and he groaned, chest heaving. Her name fell from his lips like a prayer as she shifted to straddle him. His hands fell back instinctively to hold himself upright as she continued to kiss and tug, kiss and tug, each pull causing his hips to spasm upwards, his groin lifting against her own, bucking with need. He longed to hold her but didn't dare move his arms lest he collapse completely. He was putty in her hands, a willing participant in this sweet torture.  
  
Donna began to unknot his tie, then unbutton his shirt. Past experience had taught him to expect to be the one who was naked first, be tied to the bed, or leaned over whatever available surface was handy and least comfortable for him, then pounded into. He wasn't sure what to expect with Donna, how any of this would work. For the first time in his life, he was eager to find out. She tilted back, nearly dumping herself out of his lap, but somehow managing to remain perched half on him, half off the bed, lifting him further upright and off his hands. She pulled off his jacket, shirt, and tie in one smooth motion. Then Donna slid her warm hands against his stomach again, her fingertips tracing gentle paths across his sides, belly, and chest, tangling for but an instant in the hair that was sprinkled there. He blinked against the tears that threatened to fill his eyes as she tugged here, too. Every sensation was new and addicting. She kissed him, more chastely this time, a mere peck on the lips, and quickly pulled away, taking a few steps backwards, leaving him distressingly alone in the middle of the bed.  
  
Donna's face and chest were flushed, but the rest of her body was completely hidden from his gaze. She started to slowly strip layers away, shedding them one after another, creating a growing pile on the floor. Her grey tunic clung to her purple tanktop as she lifted it, baring a sliver of her tummy's creamy expanse. She shimmied out of her jeans next, kicking off her shoes and socks in one, nudging the crumpled mass aside with her bare toes, then peeled off the tank, leaving her clad only in bra and panties. Nothing here was lacy or flowery, but plain and practical white on top, black and pleasingly cut on bottom. He longed to see firsthand how close her hair fell to the pert curves of her waist and bum. His groin quivered with desire, and he had a hard time sitting still, looking but not touching, but that was what the Master had taught him to do. It was up to Donna to move this forward.  
  
Her hands were gentle, then, as she pulled his shoulders towards herself, and he stood so abruptly that their bodies collided together. He swallowed hard as she dropped to her knees, then slipped his zip down, sending a sweet vibration through his pelvis. He gasped, but stayed still as she yanked the trousers off his hips. She looked up into his eyes as she untied his trainers and removed them one by one. Then she raised herself slightly, still kneeling before him, to dip her face towards the damp fly of his boxers, inhaling deeply. Had he thought himself aroused before...he was even more aroused  _now_. He had never felt such heat as was emanating from deep within him. It was all he could do to keep still, his knees nearly buckled in anticipation.  
  
Donna took hold of his hips and stood, her body brushing against his own in the process. He couldn't help it, he groaned, deep in his throat, then cried out when she cupped his sex with her hand gently. Her other hand slid up his bare chest, playing with the hair that she found there, then up and around to cup the nape of his neck to pull his mouth down to her own. His cubus felt electric, tight, hot, full, and ached for something, he knew not what. His entire body was kinked in knots with anticipation and pulsed, every nerve ending focused towards the lower point where they were touching.  
  
He had never felt anything like this before, it was much more intense than being with Romana had been. He couldn't think straight, couldn't even guess how Donna knew what she what she was doing, this was so completely unlikely, but she was making his body sing. Donna who didn't want to mate. Donna who was afraid of all things alien about him. Donna who should be slapping him (oh, yes please) or cowering across the room, demanding to know just what he thought he was doing. Trust Donna to blow all of that out of the Tardis. All of the old rules were falling away, leaving everything between them new and unexplored.  It felt brilliant and terrifying at the same time, just the way he liked it.  
  
Donna took him by the hand and led him into her bathroom, behind a screen that he had never noticed before, and he discovered that an addition had been made to Donna's room. There was a pool here, cut into the floor, a little bit larger than a standard hot tub. It had stone tile, smooth and rounded and intricately carved with Gallifreyan symbols that he didn't recognize. There was a small waterfall and a slight breeze blowing through the space, and somehow it seemed that there was a tree growing out of the corner, reaching over the pool and shading it from what looked like gentle sunlight with fluttering silver leaves.  
  
Donna paused at the water's edge, lifting a hand to expertly unhook her bra, causing her breasts to spill out. He couldn't help but stare as she stood before him completely uninhibited, lifting an arm and draping her lingerie over the screen. She undulated out of her panties, leaving her auburn curls completely bare before him. He only caught a whiff of her own unique, distinctly warm, wet smell—realization shuddered through him that he had done that to her—before they were gone.  Before he could react, Donna had pantsed him. They were finally standing naked, face to face, his cheeks hot with embarrassment and desire in equal measure.  
  
Donna took his hand again and led him into the pool, which started out ankle deep but steadily descended to a depth that was comfortable to sit in, submerged to the throat if one reclined in the right place.  The water was blissfully cool on his overheated skin without being cold. It smelled of salt and was aerated, pleasantly caressing his skin and causing it to tingle. Arranged with no obvious intent were seats made of coral, twisted into various odd shapes that boggled the mind.  Donna led him to one that seemed to fit his body perfectly, comfortably cupping his bum but placing no pressure on his loins even as he sunk into the structure nervously.  There was a flat, inclined surface jutting from the side of the tub that supported his chest but left his arms and lap completely uninhibited.    
  
Donna circled around behind him and began to massage his back. He longed to be able watch her, but didn't want to ask her to stop, either. He slumped forward on the coral stratum, gasped as he realized that he  _could_ see Donna. Her image was reflected in a mirror that was hanging before him on the wall along with the projection of a sunny meadow, complete with clouds, birds, and insects flitting from flower to flower.  But Donna was more beautiful than he would have been able to imagine, made everything in this place pale in comparison. Her breasts were full and peaked in the cool air, with generous areolas of a pale pink color. They bumped against his back from time to time as she worked, hanging free, bouncing invitingly. His jaw fell open as the heel of her hand found a particularly tight knot on his back, and he watched her enthralled as she leaned against him, kneading the muscle expertly. His breathing deepened as her fingers fixed every stitch and eased every cramp.  
  
By the time Donna had finished caring for his back, the Doctor's lower extremities were quivering with envy. His cubus felt like a tangled knot now: he had no idea where the pleasure ended or the pain began. He could tell that, had he not had the benefit of a respiratory bypass, he would be hyperventilating with the overwhelming sensations that were coursing through his veins. His eyes fell closed and he panted, not sure how much more of this he could take.  
  
"A rose by any other name,” Donna breathed in his ear. He felt her hand drift across his shoulder, dipped down to tweak one of his nipples.  He welcomed her weight when she straddled his knees, pinning him, their legs spread open wide. He opened his eyes and gazed into the sky that was contained in her blue eyes. “Trust me?” she asked. He nodded, sighing, and without warning Donna held his cubus in the palm of her hand again, with nothing between them this time. He tried not to keen, the pain was too much, everything he was contained in this one circle of fire which longed to be free but remained frustratingly trapped, like a flower that couldn't manage to open. She carefully caressed the lips of his bulging sex, hooked a finger into a pinched crevice, and tickled. He shouted as the universe seemed to unfold behind his eyes, and he shuddered, collapsing forward into her arms, gasping for air. Pleasure rippled through his body in waves as his plinth slid forward, expanding into her palm, and throbbed back to its full external form. He barked as she stroked him again, just once, and the pleasure and pain were drawn out of him in a long squirt of hot liquid. He grabbed at her wrist, stilling her hand and begged:  
  
“No more.” She kissed him gently, stroking the insides of his thighs with whisper soft fingertips.  She lifted her hands to cup his face, fingertips stroking his sideburns, and shifted forward to kiss him over and over again, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear. The Doctor felt consciousness gradually slip away, and drifted into a deep sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight shares a midnight rendezvous with Romana III. moar sexytimes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gentle reminder that this was written pre-50th Anniversary and thus pre-War Doctor. It was my assumption at the time that Eight was the Doctor who fought in the Time War.

The Doctor wasn't used to sleeping on Gallifrey anymore, but for some reason certain members of the High Council had insisted that he take rooms here, in the Capitol and near the President's Chambers. He had resisted coming to the Citadel: everything here stunk of death and desperation, of corruption and conflict. When he had once volunteered to help rebuild Time Lord society, this had not been what he had meant. There was little hope that their forces would prevail, but still everyone refused to give up, and after what he had seen...he just couldn't remain unattached anymore. The High Council had a specific task for him, and he would fill it. He would do everything that he could to change the course of this War. He would lead the charge into the final battle.  
  
In reward for his compliance, he had been put up in a posh room overlooking the Citadel. The bed was ancient, and huge, with a headboard carved to depict three figures dancing together. It reminded him of Botticelli's Three Graces, despite the fact that two were clearly male in form. The frame creaked quietly every time he tossed or turned, like wind in an overladen branch, or the rolling deck of a ship at sea. He lay alone, naked, inexplicably hot and uncomfortable in a place that should have been cool and relaxing, and longed to lose himself, if only temporarily, in the release of an oblivious dreamworld.  
  
Truly, he hadn't thought that he would be able to sleep, not tonight, not with images of and preoccupations on death and destruction still fresh in his mind. But at some point in the empty dark he had drifted off, found peace in unconsciousness until something in the dark woke him, a noise perhaps, or a sigh. He heard the whisper of fabric brushing across half-naked flesh, bare feet searching for safe paths in the dark. He inhaled deeply, the scent of wood and something familiar and long forgotten, his eyes blind in the dark, but his other senses fully awake.  
  
"Lady President,” he pronounced quietly to the emptiness. He could hear the rustling of robes then, the dip of the mattress as she climbed into bed next to him. “Romana...” he started to breathe, but was cut off when her hand covered his mouth.  
  
"No names here,” she stated coldly. “We know each other without them.”  
  
"Do we?” he mused, somewhat sardonically. “Sometimes I wonder.” He sighed again, was startled when she touched him again, more gently this time, one hand playing with the curls on his head. She shushed him, then spoke softly:  
  
"I haven't forgotten our time together,” she assured him. He had never heard this new voice of hers anything as like to kind as now. It sounded unnatural to his ears. She must want something from him quite desperately. He missed her last incarnation with a sharp pang beneath his ribs, which was quite illogical, he knew, as somewhere inside the Lady President his old Romana lived on. She continued to stroke his hair: “I can't trust anyone else, Doctor,” she lamented. “You're my last hope.” Indignant anger flared in his chest, quick and hot.  
  
"Don't,” he responded harshly. “You've made it perfectly clear what you think of me.”  
  
"It's true, that I grew impatient with your insistence on independence,” she allowed, her voice sweetened with honey. She shifted to lie next to him then, her legs curled against his hip possessively. “I thought if there was anyone I could trust, could rely on, to carry out my needs—the needs of the Gallifreyan people—then it would be you.”  
  
Something about Romana's scent was hanging heavy in the air, making it difficult for him to breathe. But he couldn't place it: identification of the substance eluded him. He took shallow breaths, struggling to clear his thoughts, adamant about remaining coherent, not caving thoughtlessly to her wishes. He didn't recognize her anymore. They didn't want the same things. “Think of the children,” she intoned. His chest tightened again, his eyes burning with unshed tears. He swallowed heavily: perhaps it would do no harm to hear her out.  
  
"What would you have me do?” he queried. Romana's free hand ghosted over his bellybutton, then lower, searching. He stiffened as she leaned over him, her dark hair falling across him like a curtain, causing her scent to wash over him even more potently.  
  
"Simply serve at my pleasure,” she assured him quietly. “And hearken to me when I call for you.” She dipped her lips to claim his mouth, then, hard and demanding. The Doctor gasped in surprise, having never imagined that Romana would take such liberties with him. She was one of the few who knew what he was. He generally tried to fly under the radar: those who discovered such things tended to distrust and despise, think of the "man" as less than a full Time Lord. In fact, he still wondered if his secret was part of the reason she had been so harsh with him since regenerating, if politics had become more important to her than friendship and loyalty. The fact that Romana was in his rooms was surprising enough in itself, let alone the fact that she was currently insinuating herself into his bed. Her tongue was cool and dominated his mouth as she slipped under the sheets, straddling his narrow hips.  
  
"We can't do this,” he reminded her as she sat up and slipped her robes off her shoulders. The darkness got just the slightest bit brighter as she bared her naked skin to the room. Inexplicably, he found himself longing for a light...anything to see her by. Though maybe it was easier this way, not being able to see her new features.  
  
Her nails dug into his sides as she rolled her hips, marking his body with her wet heat. He gasped: “ _I_  can't do this,” he amended. She laughed, and for the first time since she had come to him, she genuinely sounded amused and carefree. She reached between them and grasped his half-erect cubus, massaging it firmly.  
  
“Liar,” she retorted, but her voice no longer held the same venom that it had before. Something had changed again, clearing the heavy air.  
  
"Oh, does that do that?” he asked in wonder as this previously useless appendage suddenly began to experience some rather interesting sensations. It was like flexing a muscle that he had forgotten he had, a natural involuntary stretching that felt very pleasant, indeed. He had never realized how very far up his own insides went, nor how much blood that his body could find to pump into such an amazingly dense space. His heartsrate had skyrocketed, felt like they were beating in his throat, playing out the staccato of a long forgotten song. He resented the fact that she was trying to control him in this manner, but at the same time...had he been a praying man, he would have been praying for this feeling to never stop. As it was, he wouldn't stoop himself to begging in such a manner.  
  
"You're a dangerous man when you don't know what you're doing,” Romana reminded him as she pumped his plinth, making it sing within her soft palm. The sensations were gradually spreading out, pooling in his stomach, making his fingers and toes tingle and curl. Perhaps his body was feeling the dip in circulation due to the fact that his blood had been diverted. “So I'm going to tell you.” She lifted her hips and shifted them just so, guiding their coupling, hissing his name under her breath as she did so.  
  
"Lady President, I do believe that you stipulated...” he grunted as she clenched her muscles around him, flexing experimentally. “No names.”  
  
"Shut up,” she commanded. And with that she began to slowly raise and lower himself over him, her hips undulating with a slow and steady rhythm. “You will (gasp) defeat the Daleks.”  
  
"Will I?” he asked. He could feel their four hearts beating in unison through their connection. It really was quite amazing. She growled at him, an angry purr that made his hearts skip a beat.  
  
"You will come (moan) back... from this war... alive.” Even she was finding it difficult to think and speak clearly now. Nearly every other word was punctuated by a new sound. She was clinging to him for purchase, her fingernails digging into his hips and she commanded him: “You  _will_  find me, no matter what it takes, no matter where I am, and we will escape  _together_.”  
  
The Doctor tilted his head back, gasping with each tiny jolt that her movements created, and tried to think objectively. Romana was clearly aroused, with an elevated body temperature and a 50% loss in coherence. He couldn't see her clearly in the dark, but it certainly felt as if she was putting a lot of effort into things, her hips flexing, rotating, and rocking insistently around and against him. Whenever she scratched, or pinched, or prodded him, his hips would jerk upward, just slightly, just enough for the head of his fully awake and  _finally_  useful cubus to brush against her cervix inquiringly. If she thrust hard enough, sometimes she was lucky and the tip of his shaft  _just_  managed to press against the entrance into her womb, which brought the most amusing little squeaks out of her lips, causing her vagina to quiver in appreciation and her movements to become slightly more erratic. But hitting that spot...well, it seemed to him that it was rather like two magnets that oppose each other, that refuse to touch no matter how hard one tries to make it happen. And in this instance, it just so happened that only one side was trying to connect the magnets. The other side was continually  _just_  sliding out of the way over and over again, frustratingly out of reach, never forming a full connection.  
  
"Do you mind if I join you?” he asked, wondering if he could put this information to good use.  
  
"By all means,” she responded, somewhat crossly, as she tried and failed yet again to make the necessary movement with her hips. He flipped them over deftly, bringing a halt to her frantic half-thrusts, and took the time to rearrange her legs around his waist.  
  
"Nobody expects command to be easy,” he commented as he moved his hands to either side of her body, hoping to find the best leverage possible.  
  
"I never expected it to be easy....” she whimpered as he eased out of her infinitesimally. “I expected to be fit for it...to rise to meet the challenge.”  
  
"You might want to hold onto something,” he told her before flexing his hips once experimentally. He nearly made it home his first try. He could see a little more from this position, so he could now see when Romana's mouth opened appreciatively, thought that her eyes had rolled up into the back of her head for a moment. For his next try she helped, shifted her hips in just the right way for them to hit the bullseye. Their newfound connection created a pleasant buzz of pleasure to travel all the way from the tip of his cubus, up his spine, to the base of his skull. “Oh,” he said, a bit surprised, but his voice still measured, analytical.  
  
"Shut up,” she repeated, even more exasperated with him now. He had managed to do what she couldn't. He grinned:  
  
"And what if I don't?” he asked. They tried again, once more hitting the head on the nail, and sending waves of pleasure pulsing through their bodies. Neither of them spoke anymore: something in him broke, and his hips started to move, almost of their own will. His sex knocked against her inner entrance over and over again, creating sparks of pleasure and heat and a flood of moisture which signaled something, he wasn't quite sure what, but it urged him on. He continued to piston into her, each stroke causing himself to be buried deeper and deeper within her, to hit that spot so hard that he was seeing stars with each and every electric shock that they made.  
  
Something was building, deep within him. He felt as if he was going to turn inside out. He was driven to find completion even as he longed for this moment to never end. Almost without warning he found himself locked inside an event that froze all rational thought over the span of a couple of seconds. Without warning, Romana's voice rose in a long moan of extreme pleasure as she orgasmed, her vagina convulsing around his plinth, creating an amazingly strong seal within her body, and in him an even more overwhelming urge for suction. For the Doctor it was like an internal sneeze that vacuumed, rather than exploded, as his cubus complied and began draining Romana's cervix for all that it was worth. When it finally ended they both collapsed, feeling boneless.  
  
_What the hell was that?_  he wondered blissfully. He hadn't known that his body was even capable of accomplishing such things.  
  
The Doctor and Romana were wrapped so far around each other now that he had no real inclination where one of them ended and the other began. They were still joined in a violent heat that, though just starting to cool, was still bubbling just beneath the surface. They held onto each other for a minute that felt like an eternity, and then, finally, he felt the connection break. His cubus pulled away from her cervix with a gentle pop, retreating, and he was suddenly utterly exhausted. All the previous electricity that had coursed between them was lost, leaving a void in him.  
  
He rolled over, onto his back, allowing Romana the freedom to pull away, but she stayed with him. Even as their sexes recovered and retreated, she remained wrapped up around him, stroking his hair gently, caressing his exhausted sex (which now felt distressingly useless once again, and small), watching over him as he slowly drifted out of consciousness. That was the last time he saw her before facing his worst nightmares in real life.


	5. Chapter 5

The Doctor woke abruptly, his body thrumming uncomfortably. He was still in the water, but had been moved, was reclining now, his head in Donna's lap. His hair was wet and pasted down uncomfortably. He tried to sit up, but it hurt: his lower stomach was sore, cramping. It wasn't too bad...still, it was worrisome.  
  
“Shh...” Donna whispered, stroking his forehead soothingly. “You're burning up.”  
  
He was shivering uncontrollably. His cubus was standing at full attention again, which was still such an alien sensation to him that he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. The scent of something vaguely familiar was wafting on the air, making him feel warm and his skin tingle pleasantly all over. So many conflicting signals coursing through his body, and none of them making any sense.  
  
“Donna,” he rasped. “I think there's something wrong with me.”  
  
“I can see that on my own, thanks,” she retorted. “You blacked out, are you okay?”  
  
“I don't know,” he answered truthfully. He felt like he was coming out of his skin. He was desperate for a connection, to be comforted, was terrified, but knew not why. “Could you, just, hold me?” he begged. “Please, I think... _I need you_.”  
  
She shifted their position, helped lean him up against the side of the pool, and slid in close beside him on their bench, wrapping her arms around him. She stroked his hair some more, but seemed hesitant somehow. He must have scared her, or maybe she wasn't ready to go further. But he couldn't stand it. He dipped his head, his mouth, to claim hers, his hands tangling in her hair. He liked her hair quite a lot, soft waves cascading through his hands, wet curls pasted to her damp breasts. He wasn't sure what his fascination with ginger stemmed from, but he was thrilled with the possibility of spending more time enjoying her copious locks.  
  
When he had reached for Donna, she had made a little sound of surprise, but she didn't resist him. He tried to pull her closer, which was really impossible because they were hip to hip, but still he felt compelled to try. He slid his hands around her back and held her tight, twisting so they were chest to chest. She lifted her leg to hook it over his. “Is this all right?' he asked, his hands slipping lower, to the small of her back. She nodded, out of breath, and he went even further, cupped her bum one handed. She lifted her hips, as if enjoying the sensation. He could feel the play of her muscles flexing against his hand.  
  
She was so soft compared to him. His body was all chiseled lines and lean muscle, while she had full breasts, wide hips, a supple belly. Her legs were unbelievable, muscular and toned after running behind him for a year. He could not believe that she had managed to keep them hidden under long skirts and in trousers for so long. He still had yet to see her bum, hadn't been paying attention earlier when they had entered the pool, but he liked the way it felt in his hands, certainly. “So beautiful...” he told her, his mouth paying special attention to her delicate throat.  
  
"Get off it,” she scoffed. He pulled away, confused: did she want him to stop? She looked skeptical.  
  
“I never realized,” he told her, leaving the statement open ended. There wasn't one right answer here. How this would feel, how hard she was on herself, how much she clearly didn't believe him. He remembered, suddenly, the words Lance had thrown at her. “You are the most gorgeous thing I have ever laid eyes on.” She stared at him for a long moment, trying to gauge his veracity.  
  
"Bless,” she finally responded, voice filled with awe. “You really believe that, don't you?” He didn't have any words left, but he nodded emphatically. The pain was getting worse. She moved to straddle him, arranging herself comfortably in his lap. “Is this what you want?” she asked.  
  
“You have no idea,” he whispered, his voice raspy with the effort. “Please...” he leaned forward to lave her breasts with open mouthed kisses, his hands kneading and supporting her bum at the same time. She arched against him as he nipped at one of her nipples, then sucked it into his mouth. When he moved his mouth to her next breast, he lifted a hand to continue stimulating the nipple he had just abandoned, a relentless pinch and tug. She was panting now, her head thrown back, and he realized that she was rubbing herself down below, her hand hidden between them.  
  
Now, a part of him realized that his last incarnation would have been embarrassed and perplexed to see this sort of behavior in a companion. Right now, he found it to be utterly  _arousing_...but also a little humiliating. He hadn't even considered touching her there. She was trembling, but looked a little frustrated, too. He was definitely letting her down. He didn't want this to be only about him, so it was only fair that she was trying to pick up his slack. He pulled back far enough to be able to watch her for a minute, analyzing her movements. It took her a long time to realize what he was doing because she was so into it and he was still working one of her nipples.  
  
But eventually she did realize, and blushed beautifully under his gaze. His grasp was gentle on her wrist: “May I?” Donna's eyes grew huge, but she nodded slowly. She guided his hand do demonstrate, fingers pressed over his as they found her clitoris together. For something so small, it certainly did seem to get a big reaction out of her. Within moments she was squirming in appreciation, her breath coming in short bursts. He had never seen Donna so quiet, it was as if she was doing her best not to make noise. He took this as a challenge. The Doctor shifted his free hand from her backside without losing the rhythm, began to gently stroke the inside of her thighs with a whisper soft touch.  
  
Donna flexed her hips, pressing her apex against his hand even harder, a small sigh escaping from her lips. Her head fell back, mouth open, eyes falling shut, and she whimpered. Her thighs were quivering in anticipation. Right hand still stroking her clit, he moved his left hand swiftly, gently parting her labia and sliding two fingers just inside Donna's needy vagina. She felt hot and soft and inviting around him. He could feel her heart beating nearby, but not directly. He crooked his fingers, searching, and they found the source of the beating, an internal artery. Donna squeaked and covered her hand with her mouth as her muscles spasmed. “Donna, there's no one to hear you here except me,” he cajoled. “Sing for me.” He stroked again, and she orgasmed, biting her hand hard and keening around it loudly. He continued stroking her, drawing it out, and marveled at the feeling of the warm wet fluid that was now coating his hand.  
  
Then the smell washed over him:  he needed to be inside her  _now._  “Donna!” he growled in warning, pulling his hands away, wanting to escape, but he couldn't. Her scent was clouding his brain, something was straining in him, longing to be free.  
  
“It's okay,” she told him. She took his plinth in her hand, stroking it firmly. The thing he had been holding back  _broke free_. He lifted her out of the water with him as he charged forward. He stopped just short of slamming her into the mirror, setting her against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist, shifted her hips, and pressed her dripping center towards him, forcing their joining. She was hot and wet and tight and smelled unbelievably good. He started moving, trying to be gentle, but within moments was pounding into her. But she met him stroke for stroke, whispering reassurances, clutching at him, telling him to let go, that she had him, that she understood.  
  
It was all too much. There was no analysis and purpose as there had been with Romana. He had no control at all, something was driving him to do this that was beyond his comprehension. He gradually became aware that he was yelling at Donna with every thrust, he didn't even know what he was saying. He realized that he was speaking in only half-coherent Gallifreyan, tried to switch to English, but it was all too much. He screamed as something inside him was thrown open, and he was emptied deep inside his partner with long, hot squirts of fluid. Which confused him more than ever, that wasn't how it was supposed to work, was it? But Donna was orgasming again, a small blessing in light of his lack of control, her body milking his for all it was worth.  
  
When it was finally over, he teetered, barely coherent. He wrapped his arms around Donna and climbed from the pool, knocking over the screen in his haste. Donna was still in his arms as he stumbled into the bedroom, desperate to reach the bed. They collapsed upon it, him still on top, and he closed his eyes against the spinning of the room. “Doctor, are you alright?” Donna asked.  
  
“No,” he groaned, feeling nauseous. His cubus, still imbedded in Donna, was already hardening again. “Not again,” he begged her. “I'm sorry.”  
  
“Shh, I'm all right,” she assured him. He felt so guilty that she was the one comforting him, he couldn't believe that he had lost control like that. “Listen to your body, it's telling you what it needs, I think.” His hips jerked weakly, causing her to squeak. He rolled over, raking his hands across his face, and she sat up, gently rotating her hips against him. It felt amazing. He panted, overwhelmed, not able to understand why this was happening to him. Donna started to dance over him, breasts swaying, shoulders rolling, hair dripping onto his cramped stomach. She leaned forward, began to massage his spasming muscles with gentle movements. Everything she did was making him harden painfully, degree by degree, making his body long to move inside her again. “Are you ready?” she asked. He nodded, uncertain, but desperate to begin.  
  
Donna leaned over him, placing one hand on her headboard, the other on his shoulder as she started to move her hips, still dancing as before. This was much gentler than he had been to her, though she had met him measure for measure. His back and buttocks were smarting, and if he wasn't mistaken he thought he even smelled blood. He inhaled deeply, tasting the air: this was a mistake. Something about Donna's smell was driving him, and the smell of their juices mixed together was an even more heady combination. He moaned, grabbing for her hips, trying to ground himself as he started to thrust up into her. The last thing he wanted was to abuse her again, but his mind was slightly put to rest, because his analysis made it clear that the blood was his own and that Donna was very much aroused.  
  
She was so sexy. He didn't know how he had spent a year with her and never noticed. She leaned down and kissed him gently, her movements never faltering. A single drop of sweat was sliding down, between her breasts—bouncing with each of their strokes—towards her bellybutton. He retrieved it with his thumb, licked it off. Then he put his fingers against her clitoris and started to massage her again. “Fuck,” she moaned. “So close...How you doin' this to me?”  
  
He felt that he still had a long way to go. He was getting a second wind, in fact. He hummed deep in his chest, almost like a purr, and started thrusting upwards more stridently. It was good that there was no one to hear, because they were getting pretty loud. Donna was starting to vocalize quietly, clearly enjoying herself. He reached up to palm one of Donna's breasts, but she hummed disapprovingly, wincing as she tilted back, further out of reach, sitting up all the way and back on his thighs. From this new vantage, he had a very good view of Donna being penetrated by him. He stared as she rolled her hips, watching as she undulated above him. She grinned down at him and winked, her breasts bouncing as she picked up the pace. It was extremely frustrating not being able to touch her.  
  
He groaned and sat up to kiss her soundly on the lips, needy and demanding. He used one hand to caress her body adoringly, grinning at her: she was trying not to make noises again, but she was failing. They sped up again, wrapped in each others arms, meeting each other stroke for stroke. Donna's movements started to falter.  She clung to him desperately, her breath warm and uneven on his throat.  He reached for her apex again, and their world shattered. Donna fell apart around him, bit down on his shoulder hard, and he fell over the edge with her. Once again, his body was giving, not taking, and the heat was so intense that he thought he saw fire behind his eyelids.  
  
He barked, collapsing backwards, cradling Donna to his chest. Her hair was everywhere, draped over them like a veil, and something tickled at the edges of his mind. They were still joined, below, he didn't like that she was above him, something was wrong about that. He rolled them over, his body shielding her from the rest of the world, and stroked her side, inquiringly. “I'm done,” she whispered, sounding thoroughly exhausted.  
  
“Shh...” he comforted. He licked her behind the ear, and his body relaxed infinitesimally. He could feel his body temperature immediately begin to normalize. “It's all right,” he stated with equal parts relief and reassurance. He was done, too, it seemed. “I'll watch over you.” He continued to stroke her hair and massage her scalp affectionately, watching her as she drifted off to sleep. It was ten minutes before his cubus pulled away from her cervix, breaking their connection, and Donna whimpered fitfully in her sleep. The Doctor whispered reassurances to her, pulled away only to cover them and wrap himself around her. He pressed his thighs possessively to her bottom, raising her legs over his, so that she was sitting in his lap even while collapsed boneless in the bed. She rolled in her sleep to face him, pressing her mouth to his throat, and his entire body quivered in relief. He could breathe and think clearly again. He wasn't sure how long he watched over her before drifting off into pleasant dreams of floating submerged and safe, five gentle drumbeats patting a lullaby.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this to explore potential differences in hypothetical Alien Gender/Sexuality as framed by Gallifreyans. I recognize that i am largely ignorant of Human Gender/Sexuality in terms of the way it is viewed in a modern context. I may write things that you think are wrong or offensive. Please forgive me if i offend you, that is never my intent.


End file.
